


caged

by Cypherr



Series: Hollow [13]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, Vilbur, Villain Wilbur Soot, dadza hurry up :(, kid of- it's, tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cypherr/pseuds/Cypherr
Summary: Wilbur's humming felt like the lure of a songbird- a shrike calling its prey close, only so it could snatch it up and impale it on its spike.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Hollow [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958773
Comments: 24
Kudos: 538





	caged

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this was ORIGINALLY supposed to be part of a much more active chapter, but then I wrote this part and it didn't feel right to continue it past this, so part 13 is now going to be part 13, 14, and 15  
> and YES it's more Tommy angst. Dadza will be here soon

Tommy was tired. Mentally, physically, _emotionally_. He couldn't take being cooped up in either the White House or Dream's base for a single fucking moment longer or he was going to blow his brains out. Maybe he was going stir craze, but fuck, if he didn't get out, he was going to follow Wilbur in his descent into madness. So, maybe it was another dumb decision on his part to go back to that flower field with the bees, but all he wanted was a _second_ of peace.

It was nice, out in the field. The flowers smelt lovely and were a colorful welcome, so very different from the same, drab walls he'd been stuck in. The bees were still as friendly as well, cuddling up to him as they pleased and just doing their own thing, merry as could be. He found himself wishing he could be like them- free of fear and the responsibility that had weighed down on him since L'manburg was nothing but a hopeful concept whispered in the deceiving safety of the stars' company.

L'manburg. Notch, how far it's fallen. He'd ended up trading one dictator for another, and then one more, in the end. He missed how it used to be, even during the first war. They were all _family_ , sticking together, because as long as they were, they could do anything. L'manburg was a people more than it would ever be a nation, but now, he wasn't so sure they were even that anymore. When was the last time he'd talked to Niki or Fundy, or Eret, or Jack, or his _best fucking friend_ Tubbo? Nether knows they didn't have Wilbur, anymore.

"I heard there was a special place," he whispered to himself, letting nostalgia overtake him.

"Where men could go and emancipate," his voice cracked as he got louder with each new word he sang.

"The tyranny and brutality of their rulers." He wished that were true now, but Wilbur was the worst of them all. It sickened him almost as much as it made his weeping heart ache.

"The place is real, you needn't fret." Notch, he wished their ideal L'manburg was their reality. He wanted to have his past back- wanted to go back to the times he could remember being so carefree.

"With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, Fuck Eret," he sobbed, laying back on the plush grass, likely crushing a few dozen sprouting spring flowers.

"It's a very big and not blown up L'manurg." L'manburg had never been the same after Eret's betrayal, even after they'd patched the holes he left (in their land and their hearts.) He still had a giant burn scar across his chest from the initial explosion, but the wound had never bothered him like the emotional one did.

"My L'manburg." That wasn't his voice. He threw himself off the ground, crouched on all fours, ready to spring away at a moment's notice. He whipped around to face the direction the sound had come from, only to be face to face with Wilbur. It was- It was _Wilbur_. But he- he looked like he did back _home_. He still wore his ratty trenchcoat, but his smile was kind and his eyes seemed clear. He was even wearing his glasses. The sight nearly made him go running into his arms, just to get a taste of _safety_.

"My L'manburg- com'on, Toms, sing it with me." He stood, frozen, mouth clamped shut as Wilbur finished the tune alone. 

He watched, remaining still, lie if he didn't move, Wil couldn't get him, as the brunette sat down next to him, posture relaxed and carefree.

"It's a shame I didn't bring my guitar, hmm? The anthems not quite the same without it." How was he supposed to react? This wasn't supposed to happen. Wilbur wasn't supposed to be here. He was just taking a breather, and then he'd go back. _Wilbur wasn't supposed to be here_.

He remained stock-still, eyes wide and breath trapped in his lungs. He could feel unbidden tears well in his eyes at the sight of the man that terrified him to his core (the man he wanted back in his life more than anything.)

"Toms? What's the matter?" Fuck, he sounded so _genuinely concerned_. None of this made any sense. Where was the line that separated president Wilbur and his Wilby? Where did the terror start and the safety end? He couldn't keep living like this- living in fear of his _family_ (his everything.) He couldn't stop the tears that fell or the choked, gut-wrenching sobs that tore themselves from his throat if he _tried_. He'd cried _so much_ recently but it was all _too much_ to handle and he was _sixteen_ for fucks sake. Sixteen! He wanted to be a kid again. Wanted to help Techno farm potatoes (even if he was more of a bother than a helping hand.) Wanted to have Wilbur teach him to play the guitar and sing to him when he got too frustrated at his lack of ability. Wanted to talk about anything and everything under the sun with Phil on their back porch that overlooked the small lake he liked to swim in during the summer months, surrounded by the tall spruce trees he'd long since learned to climb.

He was tired of fighting wars and dying because other people thought that he should. He was tired of waking up, day after day, scared, alone, and _exhausted_. He wanted it all to be _over._ He wanted his family back. Wanted kind Wilby and smiling Techie. Wanted dad's warm wings. Wanted to fall asleep cuddled up to their cats 'Pog' and 'Champ.' Wanted to have Wilbs read him bedtime stories and give him piggyback rides around their property. _He wanted his brother_.

"Oh, bubba, come here," Wilbur cooed, arms open in invitation. And he _hated himself_ for diving in, burying his head in his chest like he used to when he was little, hands gripping his ratty coat like his life depended on it. He could almost convince himself that the arms around him, so sung around his middle, were comforting and not the burning cage they were in actuality. He could almost pretend that Wilbur didn't smell of gunpowder and smoke and _whiskey_ , and the cloth in his hands wasn't rough and raggedy, and that, instead, it was his Wil's favorite yellow sweater and his favorite cocoa scented shampoo. _Almost_.

"Wilby where'd you _go?_ I don't like the new you- you're _scary_. It hurts Wilbs. _I'm scared._ You aren't mine. I want you _back,_ " he cried brokenly into his collarbone, cheat heaving with hacking sobs and rapid breaths. It ached, but the pain in his heart ached more. It was like a gaping hole had opened, attempting to swallow him whole. It was as if he was drowning. As if the arrow from that fated duel had returned to off him once more. As if the Nether itself was trying to pull him under and trap him in its dangerous, murky depths.

The hand in his hair hurt more than it soothed because he knew, just as he knew that he was in the grasp of a predator, that it was _not safe_. (But _fuck_ he _wanted_ it to be.) Wilbur's humming felt like the lure of a songbird- a shrike calling its prey close, only so it could snatch it up and impale it on its spike.

"Can we go home, Wilbur? I wanna- I wanna see dad. I want you back in your soft sweaters, I want to go mess around with Techno in his fields, Wilbs. I wanna go hunt for berries in the forest with you. I want you to teach me guitar again even though I'm really bad at it. I want bedtime stories and Phil's hot cocoa and no more _wars_ and _death_ and _pain_ , Wilby. I just want it all to end." His cries had settled down to sniffles that stuck between his every word, voice breaking as he ranted to the man he only knew by name.

"I don't wanna be an adult anymore." And it was true. He didn't. He didn't want to be a Big Man anymore. Didn't want the pressure of the entire SMP stuck on his shoulders. He wanted to go play tag with Tubbo, or make stupid jokes as they built even dumber things. He wanted hugs and cuddles and late-night reassurances. He wanted to cry when he scraped a knee or bruised an elbow, not when an arrow pierces his chest, or a blade slits his throat, or TNT makes his world go _white_. He wanted to laugh because it was genuine, not because it was the only thing keeping him from breaking down in the frigid emptiness of the ravine that was so far from anything resembling a home. He wanted to sing so horribly off-key around a campfire with his family and friends it made even his ears ring, suffering and strife the last things on their minds. He wanted to be the kid he hadn't been in _so long_. _He didn't want to play adult anymore_.

"We can have that again, bubba. I promise- just me and you."

"And dad and Techie," he insisted. He didn't want to be alone with Wilbur again. (He was alone with him now. Nothing he said would matter. He was well and truly trapped.)

"They don't want to go back to how things were, Toms. Dad would've stayed with us if he wanted that. Techno wouldn't have left us for _Dream_ ," Wilbur seethed, grip around his middle tightening drawing a whine from his throat and hushed apologies from the brunette.

"Techno said he'd protect me though, Wilbs."

"But what's there to protect you from, hmm"?

"You, Wil. 'Cause you hurt me and you scare me and I don't like you anymore." He wasn't even speaking anymore- just whispering, body lip and pliant in defeat, like a rat in a mousetrap that fell for the cheese that had been far too enticing, knowing that there was no escape from its new metal prison.

"Oh, bubba. I only do what I do because I love you." His tone was saccharine but it felt anything but sweet.

"Dad said you don't hurt the people you love."

"People love differently, Tommy."

"But you scare me, Wilby. I wanna go home."

"We can go home, Toms. It'll be just you and me." He didn't even have time to process what he had said before he was being _squeezed_ and his face was being shoved hard into Wilbur's chest and _he couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe. He was dying againohnotchohnonotagainpleaseno-_

And then his world went black. He should have stayed where it was _safe_.

**Author's Note:**

> imagine proofreading  
> couldn't be me


End file.
